


the stories of our lives

by annadavidson



Series: the eberron chronicles [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Eberron
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Homebrew Content, M/M, Multi, short story collection, various characters - Freeform, various relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29569293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annadavidson/pseuds/annadavidson
Summary: A collection of (probably random) short stories and snippets set in a heavily homebrewed 5th edition version of the Eberron setting.
Series: the eberron chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1251146





	1. tears of an angel

**Author's Note:**

> Characters currently featured in any story that belong to my players: King Orion Black.

**_Two years prior to the events of The Eberron Chronicles..._ **

* * *

It was always…  _ different _ when the King visited. They had never been there by themselves before. The King had always visited their parents. Occasionally they had joined in those meetings, they were the heir to the House after all, but not always. At first they thought it was some mistake. Had the King forgotten that their parents - including the current House Head, their father - were fighting on the front lines in Argonnessen? Even their older brother was in Argonnessen, where many said the last leg of the war was being fought.

But the King addressed them by name. They felt a shiver run up their spine. Something felt off - felt  _ wrong. _

“Your Majesty?” they asked, standing up from the plush chair they’d been sitting in within the enclave’s library. They set the book they’d been reading aside, grey eyes regarding the King nervously.

_ “Orion _ is fine,” the King -  _ Orion _ \- corrected for perhaps the hundredth time since he’d known them. And he’d known them all eighteen years of their life. He gestured for them to sit down and they obligated, fear twisting their stomach.

Something was  _ very _ wrong.

Orion moved a seat so he could sit opposite of them. The library felt far too quiet even by library standards. There were no other members of the House there. This was a private meeting with  _ them. _ But they were no one special. They were a dragonmark heir and heir to their father’s position as House Head but they still no special than any other dragonmark heir until they inherited their father’s position…  _ Oh. _

_ No. _

The news… No words could ever describe the full impact they had on them. They’re suffocating, constricting until all they can feel is anger, frustration,  _ denial. _ They had never been one to speak ill toward the King but they found themself accusing him of being wrong, of lying, of not knowing what he was talking about. But the truth was always there, right in front of them in the grief on his face.

He’d known their parents too. Their parents had only been a few years older than him and their House had always been close to the royal family - mainly because it came with political advantages but their father had made a point to actually become  _ friends _ with Orion because he’d wanted to, not because he wanted political power.

He wouldn’t lie about this. He wouldn’t get the facts wrong. He  _ couldn’t. _

The next thing they knew they were sobbing, held in arms and clutching onto their owner. They screamed and fought but were held firm. They sobbed until they choked on the tears. They cursed the gods - cursed Dol Arrah, cursed Dol Dorn, cursed the Silver Flame.

Their parents weren’t ever coming back from Argonnessen. In one conversation, they had lost their father, mother, and stepmother. Assassins had made sure of that. There was no news on the assassins’ identities, not yet. But it didn’t matter. They didn’t want revenge. They didn’t want more death. They simply wanted their parents back.

The next day it was declared that Winn Deneith was the new Head of House Deneith.


	2. all of the things we're not

**_Two years prior to the events of The Eberron Chronicles…_ **

* * *

He couldn’t remember a time without the war. He’d been roughly fourteen years old when it had started but it easily had become all he knew. His family had always been well known and respected among the people of Darguun. Like his grandparents, his parents had been proud of a story that said some ancestors of theirs had been the first firbolgs to join Darguun’s military and that their military genius had saved the kingdom numerous times over the years. As a child, he’d been in awe of those ancestors and of the living relatives all serving in the military.

As an adult, he’d started to believe those stories held more exaggerations than anyone wanted to admit.

He’d been in the war for four years. He hadn’t been drafted but at the same time, he hadn’t been given much of a choice. It had always been what was expected of him. The first years of his life had been dedicated to training - to strategy, tactics,  _ fighting. _ He’d never wanted to learn. He’d always preferred science. His parents had encouraged that but only in the ways that it could be weaponized.

Once he turned thirty, an adult by firbolg standards, he’d been expected to enlist. His parents had already been fighting in the war. So had his aunts, uncles, cousins. Refusing had never felt like an option. He’d fought in that war for four years. Four years of his life stolen by violence, by blood spilled for reasons no one seemed to know. Everyone seemed to have different reasons why they thought the war was being waged. There were far too many reasons for any of them to feel like the truth to him.

Four years of his life stolen by suspected lies.

He fought primarily in Xen’drik under his mother’s commands. He made acids, poisons, weapons he thought should have never been used on anyone, let alone the ka’ki’kur drow’s clans of Xen’drik. At this point in time, he thought everyone on the planet should have been above such barbaric tactics.

He knew the drow would strike back. These were the same drow that had slaughtered the giants that had enslaved them. Their brutality was understandable, blows struck by bodies scarred from chemical weapons. Weapons  _ he _ had helped make. Weapons  _ he _ had helped unleash.

His parents had become victims of revenge, though he knew some would argue they’d brought it upon himself. He’d watched them die by the same ferocity that had brought giants crumbling down so many years ago. Maybe he could have helped them. Maybe he could have saved them.

He’d ran.

Darguun was many things but it was not a kingdom known for its kindness toward deserters. He couldn’t go back home. If he had any surviving relatives once the war had taken its toll, they wouldn’t accept him. They would be ashamed of him. He was a stain on his lineage. In a way… He’d always known that.

The war, later dubbed the Last War, ended not long after he deserted. Argonnessen was left devastated, Sarlona was more closed off than they had ever been, Xen’drik was left bitter and burning, and both Aerenal and Khorvaire claimed victory.

Four years of his life stolen so some monarchs could lick their wounds and others could cry out that they were the victors. There was news - they had started out as rumors but were gaining more truth as time went on - that the dragonmark houses were devastated, that there had been assassination attempts on the heads of all of the Houses. All except one had been successful.

Rumors and the truth mixed together as he traveled, finding himself back on Khorvaire soil but far from Darguun. He needed a place where he could start over. A place where he could find out who he really was and who he wanted to be. That was how he found himself at the Lhazaar Principalities. It had barely been two months since the Last War had ended.

He stood in the cobbled together castle of the pirate princes, fiddling with the ends of his black hair, braided and resting over his shoulder.

“I hear you want to join a crew?” a voice asked from behind him.

He quickly turned around and found himself face to face with a water genasi with navy blue skin and white markings across his body, head shaved to be devoid of any hair. The fact that he was a water genasi was enough to tell him that this was one of the princes. He had a gun holstered to his hip and glasses on his face, resting down slightly against the bridge of his nose.

“I - Yes, Your Highness,” he stuttered out, quickly bowing before straightening.

The Prince chuckled. “I’m a  _ pirate. _ There’s no need for such formalities. Now we don’t ask questions here aside from what you can bring to the crew…?”

“I’m an artificer,” he explained, absentmindedly still fiddling with the end of his braid. “I specialize in alchemy but I know my way around items and constructs as well.”

The Prince paused. “What about wards?”

He hesitated. “I uh - I know how to create a few but I know how to maintain more.”

There was silence before the prince grinned at him. “I think I know just the ship that could use your help,” he said, turning and gesturing to be followed. He paused again however, glancing over his shoulder. “Before I forget - What’s your name?”

He considered lying. This was his chance to change his name. After all neither his kingdom nor his family would remember his name well. But… Perhaps there was hope for his name to be remembered for something other than suffering and desertion?

He managed to stop fiddling with his braid and smiled at the Prince, replying honestly, “Aekas.”


End file.
